Authors: Bill Johnston Witold Gombrowicz
Bacacay (31 page)
The telltale sound—a quiet, barely audible chink, the characteristic sound of loose change in the pocket—once again reached the ears of the chancellor and the council.
For a second time the noble old man fixed his intent and lifeless gaze on the conventional face of the enemy ambassador ...
and yet again, more clearly, the telltale sound was heard.
By now it was evident that someone who wished to bring the king and the banquet into disrepute was in this clandestine way trying to tempt the monarch’s unhealthy cupidity.
The telltale jingling rang out once more, this time so clearly that Slothbert heard it—and the serpent of covetousness crawled onto his vulgar junkyard owner’s mug.
For a second time the noble old man fixed his intent and lifeless gaze on the conventional face of the enemy ambassador ...
and yet again, more clearly, the telltale sound was heard.
By now it was evident that someone who wished to bring the king and the banquet into disrepute was in this clandestine way trying to tempt the monarch’s unhealthy cupidity.
The telltale jingling rang out once more, this time so clearly that Slothbert heard it—and the serpent of covetousness crawled onto his vulgar junkyard owner’s mug.
The disgrace!
The disgrace!
The horror!
So fanatical in its baseness was the king’s soul, so trivially narrow, that he did not covet larger sums but precisely petty ones; small sums were capable of leading him to the very depths of hell.
Oh, the most fundamental
monstrousness of this matter was the fact that even bribes did not attract the king so much as tips—tips for him were like sausage to a dog!
The entire hall had frozen in mute anticipation.
Hearing the familiar, oh-so-sweet sound, King Slothbert put down his goblet and, forgetting everything else, in his boundless foolishness ...
licked his lips unobtrusively ....
Unobtrusively!
That was what he imagined.
The king’s lip-licking burst like a bomb in front of the entire banquet, which went red-faced with shame.
The disgrace!
The horror!
So fanatical in its baseness was the king’s soul, so trivially narrow, that he did not covet larger sums but precisely petty ones; small sums were capable of leading him to the very depths of hell.
Oh, the most fundamental
monstrousness of this matter was the fact that even bribes did not attract the king so much as tips—tips for him were like sausage to a dog!
The entire hall had frozen in mute anticipation.
Hearing the familiar, oh-so-sweet sound, King Slothbert put down his goblet and, forgetting everything else, in his boundless foolishness ...
licked his lips unobtrusively ....
Unobtrusively!
That was what he imagined.
The king’s lip-licking burst like a bomb in front of the entire banquet, which went red-faced with shame.
Archduchess Renata Adelaide let out a muffled cry of disgust!
The eyes of the government, the court, the generals, and the clergy turned to the person of the old man who for many years had guided the helm of the state in his toil-worn hands.
What was to be done?
What course of action was to be taken?
The eyes of the government, the court, the generals, and the clergy turned to the person of the old man who for many years had guided the helm of the state in his toil-worn hands.
What was to be done?
What course of action was to be taken?
And then it was seen that from the pallid lips of the historic old man, heroically, a thin old man’s tongue issued forth.
The chancellor was licking his lips!
The chancellor of the state had licked his lips!
The chancellor was licking his lips!
The chancellor of the state had licked his lips!
For a moment the council continued to wrestle with its astonishment; but eventually the tongues of the ministers issued forth, and after them the tongues of the bishops ...
the tongues of the countesses and marchionesses ...
and all licked their lips, from one end of the table to the other, in the mysterious luster of crystal, and the mirrors repeated this act to infinity, plunging it in mirrored perspectives.
the tongues of the countesses and marchionesses ...
and all licked their lips, from one end of the table to the other, in the mysterious luster of crystal, and the mirrors repeated this act to infinity, plunging it in mirrored perspectives.
Then the king, furious, seeing that he could not permit himself anything, since they copied everything he did, pushed back abruptly from the table and stood up.
But the chancellor too stood up.
And after him everyone stood.
But the chancellor too stood up.
And after him everyone stood.
For the chancellor no longer hesitated; he had already made a decision whose extraordinary boldness put convention to rout!
Realizing that nothing could now conceal from Renata the king’s true nature, the chancellor had determined to throw the banquet openly into the struggle for the dignity of the Crown.
Yes, there was no other path—the banquet must, with utter relentlessness, repeat not only those actions of the king that lent themselves to repetition, but
precisely and above all those that did not lend themselves to repetition
—since it was possible only in that way to transform those deeds into archdeeds—and this violence on the person of the king had become necessary and unavoidable.
For this reason, when a furious Slothbert pounded his fist on the table, breaking two plates, without a second thought the chancellor smashed two plates and everyone smashed two plates apiece, as if in honor of God; and the trumpets sounded!
The banquet was prevailing over the king!
Fettered, the king sat down and remained sheepishly in his seat, while the banquet waited for him to make the slightest move.
Something extraordinary—something fantastical—was being born and was dying in the vapors of the abandoned feast.
Realizing that nothing could now conceal from Renata the king’s true nature, the chancellor had determined to throw the banquet openly into the struggle for the dignity of the Crown.
Yes, there was no other path—the banquet must, with utter relentlessness, repeat not only those actions of the king that lent themselves to repetition, but
precisely and above all those that did not lend themselves to repetition
—since it was possible only in that way to transform those deeds into archdeeds—and this violence on the person of the king had become necessary and unavoidable.
For this reason, when a furious Slothbert pounded his fist on the table, breaking two plates, without a second thought the chancellor smashed two plates and everyone smashed two plates apiece, as if in honor of God; and the trumpets sounded!
The banquet was prevailing over the king!
Fettered, the king sat down and remained sheepishly in his seat, while the banquet waited for him to make the slightest move.
Something extraordinary—something fantastical—was being born and was dying in the vapors of the abandoned feast.
The king jumped up from his place at the head of the table!
The banquet jumped up too!
The king took a few steps.
The banqueters too.
The king began to wander aimlessly around the hall.
The banqueters also wandered.
And the wandering, in its monotonous and infinite wandering, attained such dizzy heights of archwandering that Slothbert, overcome by a sudden dizziness, gave a roar—and with bloodshot eyes he flung himself on the archduchess—and, not knowing what to do, he set about gradually strangling her before the eyes of the entire court!
The banquet jumped up too!
The king took a few steps.
The banqueters too.
The king began to wander aimlessly around the hall.
The banqueters also wandered.
And the wandering, in its monotonous and infinite wandering, attained such dizzy heights of archwandering that Slothbert, overcome by a sudden dizziness, gave a roar—and with bloodshot eyes he flung himself on the archduchess—and, not knowing what to do, he set about gradually strangling her before the eyes of the entire court!
Without a moment’s hesitation the helmsman of the ship of state flung himself on the nearest lady and began strangling her—and the remaining guests followed his lead—while archstrangulation, repeated by the multitude of mirrors, gaped from every infinity and grew, and grew, and grew—till it finally suppressed the gasping of the ladies.
It was at this point that the banquet broke the last ties linking it to the ordinary world; now its mind was made up!
It was at this point that the banquet broke the last ties linking it to the ordinary world; now its mind was made up!
The archduchess fell to the floor—dead.
The strangled ladies fell.
And immobility, a hideous immobility, intensified by the mirrors, speechless, began to grow and grow ...
The strangled ladies fell.
And immobility, a hideous immobility, intensified by the mirrors, speechless, began to grow and grow ...
And it grew.
It grew unceasingly.
And it intensified, it intensified in the oceans of quiet, in the boundlessness of silence, and it reigned, it, archimmobility itself, which had descended, had taken over and was ruling ...
and its rule was indivisible ...
It grew unceasingly.
And it intensified, it intensified in the oceans of quiet, in the boundlessness of silence, and it reigned, it, archimmobility itself, which had descended, had taken over and was ruling ...
and its rule was indivisible ...
Then the king fled.
Waving his arms, with a gesture of the utmost panic Slothbert seized himself by the backside and without a second thought started to run away ...
He ran toward the door, to get as far away as possible from that Archkingdom.
The gathering saw that the king was getting away from them—another minute and he would get away!
And they watched, stupefied, for the king could not be stopped ...
who would dare to stop the king by force?
He ran toward the door, to get as far away as possible from that Archkingdom.
The gathering saw that the king was getting away from them—another minute and he would get away!
And they watched, stupefied, for the king could not be stopped ...
who would dare to stop the king by force?
“After him,” roared the old man.
“After him!”
“After him!”
The cold breath of night blew on the cheeks of the dignitaries as they rushed out onto the square in front of the castle.
The king ran away down the middle of the street, and ten or twenty paces behind him rushed the chancellor, the banquet, and the ball.
And
here the archgenius of that archstatesman once again reveals itself in all its archmight—for THE IGNOMINIOUS FLIGHT OF THE KING BECOMES SOME KIND OF ATTACK, and it is no longer clear whether THE KING IS FLEEING or whether, on the contrary, THE KING IS RUSHING FORWARD AT THE HEAD OF THE BANQUET!
Oh, those rushing sashes and medals of the ambassadors, fluttering in the furious rush; the purple of the bishops; the ministerial dress coats and tail coats; oh, the canter, the archcanter of so many potentates!
The common people had never seen such a thing before.
Magnates, owners of vast tracts of land, descendants of the most splendid families, galloping alongside officers of the general staff, whose gallop was accompanied by the gallop of all-powerful ministers, with the rush of marshals, chamberlains, with the canter of most noble, rushing ladies of the court!
Oh, the rush, the archrush of marshals and chamberlains, the rush of ministers, the canter of ambassadors in the darkness of night, by the light of lanterns, beneath the firmament of the heavens!
Cannon sounded in the castle.
And the king charged!
The king ran away down the middle of the street, and ten or twenty paces behind him rushed the chancellor, the banquet, and the ball.
And
here the archgenius of that archstatesman once again reveals itself in all its archmight—for THE IGNOMINIOUS FLIGHT OF THE KING BECOMES SOME KIND OF ATTACK, and it is no longer clear whether THE KING IS FLEEING or whether, on the contrary, THE KING IS RUSHING FORWARD AT THE HEAD OF THE BANQUET!
Oh, those rushing sashes and medals of the ambassadors, fluttering in the furious rush; the purple of the bishops; the ministerial dress coats and tail coats; oh, the canter, the archcanter of so many potentates!
The common people had never seen such a thing before.
Magnates, owners of vast tracts of land, descendants of the most splendid families, galloping alongside officers of the general staff, whose gallop was accompanied by the gallop of all-powerful ministers, with the rush of marshals, chamberlains, with the canter of most noble, rushing ladies of the court!
Oh, the rush, the archrush of marshals and chamberlains, the rush of ministers, the canter of ambassadors in the darkness of night, by the light of lanterns, beneath the firmament of the heavens!
Cannon sounded in the castle.
And the king charged!
“Forward!”
he cried.
“Forward!”
he cried.
“Forward!”
And archcharging at the head of his archsquadron, the archking passed on into the dark of night!
Afterword
It was with the first seven stories of the present volume that a young and previously unknown writer called Witold Gombrowicz burst upon the Polish literary scene in 1933.
Though many of the critics of the time were baffled by these bizarre works, others immediately appreciated the subtle humor, the brilliant literary and linguistic inventiveness, and the psychological complexity of the stories; virtually overnight, Gombrowicz’s reputation was established and his genius recognized, by some at least.
Thanks in part to these beginnings, Gombrowicz remains one of the most important (and enjoyable) European writers of the twentieth century.
Though many of the critics of the time were baffled by these bizarre works, others immediately appreciated the subtle humor, the brilliant literary and linguistic inventiveness, and the psychological complexity of the stories; virtually overnight, Gombrowicz’s reputation was established and his genius recognized, by some at least.
Thanks in part to these beginnings, Gombrowicz remains one of the most important (and enjoyable) European writers of the twentieth century.
In fact, the story of the writing and publication of these pieces is a curious one in itself.
The first seven stories of
Bacacay
were written between 1926 and 1932 and first appeared in 1933 under the title
Recollections of Adolescence (Pamiętnik z okresu dojrzewania).
Recollections
brought Gombrowicz considerable renown, though few critics were capable of appreciating just how innovative his
writing was.
It was the publication of
Ferdydurke
in 1937 that cemented Gombrowicz’s reputation as a master of prose.
The first seven stories of
Bacacay
were written between 1926 and 1932 and first appeared in 1933 under the title
Recollections of Adolescence (Pamiętnik z okresu dojrzewania).
Recollections
brought Gombrowicz considerable renown, though few critics were capable of appreciating just how innovative his
writing was.
It was the publication of
Ferdydurke
in 1937 that cemented Gombrowicz’s reputation as a master of prose.
The outstanding quality of these early stories may partly be explained by the fact that, though these were Gombrowicz’s first published writings, they were not the first things he had written.
On a number of previous occasions he had tried his hand at novels, but he had been deeply dissatisfied with the results and had burned the manuscripts.
In his
Polish Memories (Wspomnienia polskie),
written and published in the early 1960s from exile in Argentina, Gombrowicz recalled that after these failures he had decided to attempt some shorter pieces, and ended up being quite pleased with the results:
On a number of previous occasions he had tried his hand at novels, but he had been deeply dissatisfied with the results and had burned the manuscripts.
In his
Polish Memories (Wspomnienia polskie),
written and published in the early 1960s from exile in Argentina, Gombrowicz recalled that after these failures he had decided to attempt some shorter pieces, and ended up being quite pleased with the results:
This time ...
these were not compositions abortive right from their botched conception; I engaged in level-headed work aimed at a concrete result.
I set about writing brief pieces—short stories—with the idea that if one didn’t work out I would burn it and start something new.
these were not compositions abortive right from their botched conception; I engaged in level-headed work aimed at a concrete result.
I set about writing brief pieces—short stories—with the idea that if one didn’t work out I would burn it and start something new.
But all of them came out well, in my view at least.
During those university years, when on the surface I had distanced myself entirely from literature, a style was forming within me, and now from the first moment I discovered in myself a sureness of hand that I could never have anticipated.
During those university years, when on the surface I had distanced myself entirely from literature, a style was forming within me, and now from the first moment I discovered in myself a sureness of hand that I could never have anticipated.
[...] One thing I do remember—that from the beginning the nonsensical and the absurd were very much to my liking, and I was never more satisfied than when my pen gave birth to some scene that was truly crazy, removed from the (healthy) expectations of mediocre logic, and yet firmly rooted in its own separate logic.
It is also interesting to hear Gombrowicz’s description of the method he developed as he wrote these stories:
A writer can, if he wishes, describe reality as he sees it or as he imagines it to be; this produces realistic works such as the books of Sienkiewicz.
But he can also apply a different method in which reality is reduced to its component parts, after which these parts are used like bricks to construct a new edifice, a new world or microcosm ...
which ought to be different from the regular world, and yet correspond with it in some way ...
different but, as the physicists say, dequate ...
But he can also apply a different method in which reality is reduced to its component parts, after which these parts are used like bricks to construct a new edifice, a new world or microcosm ...
which ought to be different from the regular world, and yet correspond with it in some way ...
different but, as the physicists say, dequate ...
Thus, for example, in my story “Dinner at Countess Pavahoke’s”
I invented a group of aristocrats sharing a series of exclusively vegetarian dinners in order to cultivate various kinds of sublimity and mental refinement; yet the swine of a cook serves them soup made from a little boy ...
and they consume it with relish.
Nonsense, is it not?
But it’s nonsense composed of elements taken from life; it’s a caricature of reality ...
how delightful it was to see this nonsense blossom beneath my pen, grow with its own inexorable logic, and lead to unforeseen resolutions.
and they consume it with relish.
Nonsense, is it not?
But it’s nonsense composed of elements taken from life; it’s a caricature of reality ...
how delightful it was to see this nonsense blossom beneath my pen, grow with its own inexorable logic, and lead to unforeseen resolutions.
Perhaps because of the critics’ misinterpretation of the title
Recollections of Adolescence
—many of them, especially those hostile to Gombrowicz, took it to mean that the author was declaring himself not yet mature—when it came time to reissue the stories in postwar Poland in 1957 Gombrowicz decided to rename the collection
Bakakaj,
a Polonized form of Bacacay, the name of a side street in Buenos Aires on which the writer lived.
This title, while striking, tells us nothing about the contents of the book; Gombrowicz explained in a letter to his Italian publisher that he named his book thus “for the same reason that a person names his dogs—to distinguish them from others.”
Recollections of Adolescence
—many of them, especially those hostile to Gombrowicz, took it to mean that the author was declaring himself not yet mature—when it came time to reissue the stories in postwar Poland in 1957 Gombrowicz decided to rename the collection
Bakakaj,
a Polonized form of Bacacay, the name of a side street in Buenos Aires on which the writer lived.
This title, while striking, tells us nothing about the contents of the book; Gombrowicz explained in a letter to his Italian publisher that he named his book thus “for the same reason that a person names his dogs—to distinguish them from others.”
The texts of the original seven stories of
Recollections of Adolescence
were revised and in places shortened for
Bakakaj;
in some cases titles were altered.
For example, “Adventures” was in the earlier book titled “Five Minutes Before Falling Asleep.”
In addition, Gombrowicz added two freestanding stories from
Ferdydurke
—“Philidor’s Child Within” and “Philibert’s Child Within”—and also three stories which had been published separately but had never before appeared in book form—“On The Kitchen Steps,” “The Rat,” and “The Banquet.”
The enlarged collection of stories was published as
Bakakaj
by Wydawnictwo Literackie in Kraków in 1957.
This event was regarded by Gombrowicz as his postwar debut in communist Poland, but it also turned out to be the last time his work would appear in his home country in his lifetime.
(His primary Polish-language publisher was the Paris-based Kultura house.)
Recollections of Adolescence
were revised and in places shortened for
Bakakaj;
in some cases titles were altered.
For example, “Adventures” was in the earlier book titled “Five Minutes Before Falling Asleep.”
In addition, Gombrowicz added two freestanding stories from
Ferdydurke
—“Philidor’s Child Within” and “Philibert’s Child Within”—and also three stories which had been published separately but had never before appeared in book form—“On The Kitchen Steps,” “The Rat,” and “The Banquet.”
The enlarged collection of stories was published as
Bakakaj
by Wydawnictwo Literackie in Kraków in 1957.
This event was regarded by Gombrowicz as his postwar debut in communist Poland, but it also turned out to be the last time his work would appear in his home country in his lifetime.
(His primary Polish-language publisher was the Paris-based Kultura house.)
Curiously, while
Bacacay
includes Gombrowicz’s first works, it is the last of his writings to be published in English.
Though individual stories translated by various hands have appeared in literary journals over the years, and
Bacacay
has been translated into numerous other languages, the present translation (made directly from the original Polish) marks the first time the whole collection has been made available to an English-speaking audience.
The translation is based on the 2002 scholarly edition of
Bakakaj
published, also by Wydawnictwo Literackie, as the first volume in a definitive edition of Gombrowicz’s collected works.
This English version reproduces the “compromise” sequence of the 2002 edition, which broadly follows the chronological order in which the stories were written and published, with the exception of “On The Kitchen Steps,” written earlier but omitted from
Recollections of
Adolescence
out of consideration for the author’s father, who Gombrowicz was afraid might read an allusion to himself in the story.
I have chosen to include my own translations of the two stories from
Ferdydurke,
on the grounds of stylistic consistency, given that Gombrowicz evidently considered them to belong with the other stories in the book.
Bacacay
includes Gombrowicz’s first works, it is the last of his writings to be published in English.
Though individual stories translated by various hands have appeared in literary journals over the years, and
Bacacay
has been translated into numerous other languages, the present translation (made directly from the original Polish) marks the first time the whole collection has been made available to an English-speaking audience.
The translation is based on the 2002 scholarly edition of
Bakakaj
published, also by Wydawnictwo Literackie, as the first volume in a definitive edition of Gombrowicz’s collected works.
This English version reproduces the “compromise” sequence of the 2002 edition, which broadly follows the chronological order in which the stories were written and published, with the exception of “On The Kitchen Steps,” written earlier but omitted from
Recollections of
Adolescence
out of consideration for the author’s father, who Gombrowicz was afraid might read an allusion to himself in the story.
I have chosen to include my own translations of the two stories from
Ferdydurke,
on the grounds of stylistic consistency, given that Gombrowicz evidently considered them to belong with the other stories in the book.
I won’t presume to suggest how these stories should be read.
Over the years they have been interpreted from a psychosexual perspective as emanations of the author’s troubled mind; as exercises in literary parody (the detective story, the adventure story, the folk tale, and so on); as sociopolitical critiques of the shortcomings of the Polish gentry and aristocracy; and as attempts at innovative literary forms.
Justifications for each of these readings can be found in Gombrowicz’s own statements about the stories, as well as the analysis of numerous critics.
For those of my generation, in their combination of intellectual allusions and absurd yet po-faced humor they are reminiscent of nothing so much as the films of Luis Buñuel or even of
Monty Python
sketches.
Others will no doubt find different associations and pleasures from their reading.
Over the years they have been interpreted from a psychosexual perspective as emanations of the author’s troubled mind; as exercises in literary parody (the detective story, the adventure story, the folk tale, and so on); as sociopolitical critiques of the shortcomings of the Polish gentry and aristocracy; and as attempts at innovative literary forms.
Justifications for each of these readings can be found in Gombrowicz’s own statements about the stories, as well as the analysis of numerous critics.
For those of my generation, in their combination of intellectual allusions and absurd yet po-faced humor they are reminiscent of nothing so much as the films of Luis Buñuel or even of
Monty Python
sketches.
Others will no doubt find different associations and pleasures from their reading.
In this regard, it is interesting to note that in the very first copies of the first edition of
Recollections of Adolescence,
Gombrowicz included a “Short Explanation” addressed to his readers, in which he explicated “what the stories are about,” emphasizing that the explanations were only necessary for readers who could not figure this out for themselves.
Among his “explanations,” he clarifies that in “A Premeditated Crime” the family loves the father, and he has not been murdered; and that in “Dinner at Countess
Pavahoke’s” the soup is not actually made from the runaway boy, but that the association is purely linguistic, and that “the point of the story is that the hunger and suffering of poor Bolek Cauliflower make the cauliflower-vegetable taste better to the aristocrats eating it.”
He also explains that both “Adventures” and “The Events on the
Banbury
” take place in the minds of their respective protagonists only; he describes the latter story as “the dramatic tale of a mind, written with the aid of external events.”
And he warns the reader not to look for symbols: “There are no symbols here, only associations.
It should be taken exactly as it is written.
I am never symbolic.”
The “Short Explanation” was removed from the book after only a few hundred copies had been printed; it seems clear that Gombrowicz (rightly, I would argue) came to the conclusion that interpretation was the job of the reader, not the writer.
Recollections of Adolescence,
Gombrowicz included a “Short Explanation” addressed to his readers, in which he explicated “what the stories are about,” emphasizing that the explanations were only necessary for readers who could not figure this out for themselves.
Among his “explanations,” he clarifies that in “A Premeditated Crime” the family loves the father, and he has not been murdered; and that in “Dinner at Countess
Pavahoke’s” the soup is not actually made from the runaway boy, but that the association is purely linguistic, and that “the point of the story is that the hunger and suffering of poor Bolek Cauliflower make the cauliflower-vegetable taste better to the aristocrats eating it.”
He also explains that both “Adventures” and “The Events on the
Banbury
” take place in the minds of their respective protagonists only; he describes the latter story as “the dramatic tale of a mind, written with the aid of external events.”
And he warns the reader not to look for symbols: “There are no symbols here, only associations.
It should be taken exactly as it is written.
I am never symbolic.”
The “Short Explanation” was removed from the book after only a few hundred copies had been printed; it seems clear that Gombrowicz (rightly, I would argue) came to the conclusion that interpretation was the job of the reader, not the writer.
Whatever perspective one takes, there can be no doubt whatsoever that the stories in this book are brilliantly original works that deserve a permanent place in the canon of world literature.
From the very beginnings of his writing career Gombrowicz was driven by an ambition to produce literature of significance on the scale not just of Poland but of Europe and the world.
The stories collected here show clearly that from his first published works this ambition was realized.
It has been a pleasure and a privilege to make
Bacacay
available to an English-language readership.
From the very beginnings of his writing career Gombrowicz was driven by an ambition to produce literature of significance on the scale not just of Poland but of Europe and the world.
The stories collected here show clearly that from his first published works this ambition was realized.
It has been a pleasure and a privilege to make
Bacacay
available to an English-language readership.
Bill Johnst
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